Page 144 of Pretty Little Threats

He can stay with the demons in his head, or he can join me.

His attention roams over my face. Dare takes a breath and steps toward me. My heart flutters as his rough palm slides against mine. I walk backward and lead him to the en suite, keeping my eyes on the man who’s proven again and again that he’ll show me the truth, that he’ll protect me, that he’ll love me like I’ve never been loved.

Swallowing the lump of emotion, I get the shower ready and then reach for my own shirt, but strong hands push my fingers away and Dare’s lips ghost over my shoulder.

“Let me.” His voice is hoarse and raw.

I lift my arms in answer, and he helps me undress until I’m standing naked, with him at my back. His fingers trace down my body, outlining my curves as goose bumps chase after his touch.

Turning, I wrap my arms around him and hug him. He envelops me. The room fills with steam from the shower, but even as the moisture dampens the air, all I can smell is the vetiver that reminds me this is my home.

He’s still covered in filth, and aside from those two words, he hasn’t said anything. Is he worried I’ll resent him for killing my father? I don’t. As heartless as it seems, I’m happy he’s dead. I already spent days mourning the man Ithought I knew when I found out what he’d done to my mother.

The man Dare killed wasn’t my dad.

I guide him into the shower and under the spray of water. Dare stands there, a hard line between his eyebrows, watching me lather up a loofa with his body wash. My heart swells at his confusion. Did he really expect me to hate him?

“I’ve got you now,” I promise.

His features soften, and slowly, as I wash the remnants of the night from his body, as I run my nails across his scalp and through his hair, as I rinse the soap from his body, Dare returns to me.

I reach to turn the water off, but his fingers wrap around my wrist. My gaze flies to meet his and the glisten of tears in his eyes is enough to make my breath catch. “Are you okay?”

“I am now.” He gently grabs my throat and draws me forward until my back arches and our lips scarcely touch. “You’re mine, Rose.”

“Finally,” I murmur, closing the distance and claiming the beast as mine.

Dare kisses me until the water runs cold and we have no choice but to leave the shower. With towels roughly wrapped around our bodies, he scoops me up and carries me into the bedroom, bridal style.

We fall into the bed, a tangle of limbs and hungry kisses. As the towels fall away, he moves down my body, tongue circling over my nipples, down my stomach,swirling over my navel, and descending until he reaches my clit.

Rotating around the bundle of nerves, he teases me until my back arches off the mattress and two words tumble out of me. “Please, Dare.”

Humming against my skin, he finally focuses his attention on my clit, two of his fingers teasing my entrance. My thighs press against his cheeks, and he pauses, lifting his gaze to meet mine. He’s so handsome between my legs, but the wicked arch of his eyebrow spells trouble.

“Spread for me, wife.”

My thighs fall open, and the corner of his mouth quirks right as he thrusts his fingers inside of me. I cry out at the sudden intrusion, but his lips seal around my clit, ensuring I have nothing to complain about as he pumps in and out of me. His fingertips scarcely caress my G-spot.

Teasing.

Coaxing.

Controlling.

“Dare,” I beg.

“I know, baby.” He runs his tongue through my slit, spreading my folds before curling it at the last second, purposefully avoiding the place I want him most.

Lifting my hips, I try to guide him, but I should have known better. He bites my thigh in warning, and I gasp at the zap of pain. Stroking my G-spot, he finally starts to lead me toward my climax, but it’s on his terms. Steady torture.

“Please, please, please.”

“What’s your name?”

Dare does nothing without purpose. He told me not to forget who I am. I’m still not used to saying my new name out loud. The truth is, Rose Miller is dead. That unfeeling, ice princess is gone.

Now, with love and safety swirling inside my chest, I’m exactly who I want to be. “Rosalynn Richardson.”

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